


Lonely King

by BitterWheat (BannedBloodOranges)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Character Study, F/M, Horror Elements, M/M, Manga Based, Mental Health Issues, season zero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/BitterWheat
Summary: Early days for a lonely King.
Relationships: Mazaki Anzu | Tea Gardner/Mutou Yuugi, Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 48





	Lonely King

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of ancient fic.
> 
> Non-profit fun only.

He’s had more centuries than any man to scour the labyrinth of his home.

It adjusts, as fitting to his moods. The mazes shift and twist, staircases turning upside down and counterclockwise, doors melting into doors and he sits, poised on his stone throne and observes, with bored eyes, each tinker and toil of his soul.

All these subtle changes, all this refurnishing, have eroded any shred of human memory and he exists, sorely as a shadow, within the cracked pieces of his incomplete puzzle.

A millennia before, he recalls scratching and screeching at rearranging walls, the jigsaw of his mind shattering at his feet, eyes becoming wild and bloodshot with tunneling through shadow. But such things have passed. Now, the shadows have stitched themselves into him, filling out holes in his existence, and now, they bend and coil and answer to his call.

Soon, he slumbers on the throne, cheek pressed to his knuckle, eyes shut. He sleeps for over three centuries, until there is a sudden ripple of warmth, slow and dribbling, through the contours of his puzzle.

He cracks opens one eye.

The warmth spreads. It’s soft, questioning, like gentle fingers running across skin and he shivers like a petted cat. He unfurls himself on his throne, toying with the ankhs hoisted on his sleeves, and his eyes dart to the opposite wall for on its surface, a new door materializes.

It’s larger than the others, studded with one single eye, and he stares until the mark burns on his brow.

_Click._

The shadows begin to ascend, to move out of the room, pushing back the mismatched building blocks of his personal hell, and the little gamer allows his lips to part.

His teeth, sharp, shine in the dark.

* * *

_Yes._

Air fusses his hair; it’s a sensation he has yet to remember. His own shadows, pried from his heart and the burning eye of Horus on his forehead, branch out and engulf the bully below.

An infernal tide, of all that has been suppressed, locked in gold for over three thousand years, morphs into monsters of his own making and Ushio is swallowed whole into the merciless gape of a red gullet.

The third eye sculpts the beasts; each slimy chunk of scale, each sharp scratch of the claw, each nick and tear of mighty teeth. But the boy’s eyes, the eyes he has stolen, see the cold illusion of truth. The man below writhes in water, dragging himself up for air; pathetic, thick-headed insect. His shadows mangle Ushio’s mind until it creaks and finally cracks under the strain.

It doesn’t take long for the hard throttle of insanity to twist Ushio’s face, and the game is over.

* * *

He acts on his host’s impulses, on the dive and rock of his emotion. He learns quickly that anger is unfamiliar in the heart of his host. Frustration, sadness, oh yes, they are commonplace enough. As is embarrassment, shame, fear. These small, self-deprecating feelings are barely enough to allow him control for his brief gaming sessions, just barely enough to let him open small windows into _touch_ and _taste_ and _feeling_ and _life._

But anger. Anger is the trigger, the key that provides his existence. So, he stirs the boy’s budding fury, slow and sweet, brewing darkness into a silent whisper of _give in_ and _it’s alright_ and _you can trust me I can make it better._

The girl makes it easy.

This is warmth associated with this girl, tinged with faint heat, and that becomes a bonfire when the thug’s hand strikes her cheek.

The boy’s heart begins to hammer in his chest and _he_ slips into his skin with the ease of a shadow.

It does not matter. The boy never remembers.

* * *

Fire engulfs flesh. It’s natural. If it hadn’t happened in this lifetime, then surely it would have occurred in the next.

For now, he plays the part of a concerned friend and leads the girl away. She splutters, asking for “Yugi” and when she tears off the blindfold, Yugi is standing there, wide-eyed and blinking.

The boy never remembers, but the girl might, and in his shadows, the eyes of the game king narrow.

* * *

He cares little for the robed man with the cold eyes. Suffice to say, however, a lick of mischief ripples down his back in pleasure as the fool’s hands slip on the crumbling stones.

Shadi’s distress crawls up the walls, tangible on the tip of his tongue. And then, far from his labyrinth, on the other side of the divided hallway, something frail stirs and utters an unconscious plea.

The boy’s brow furrows.

Shadi looks up, only to be greeted with a hand.

“This isn’t a trap.”

* * *

As the boy sleeps, the Lonely King stands in the doorway separating their rooms. The boy’s door is open, lights and toys just visible, but the King slinks back to his puzzles and mazes and madness, and shuts the door behind him.


End file.
